


Blonde [Category] : Orgins

by TopHat



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Birth, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 05:17:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21404824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TopHat/pseuds/TopHat
Summary: This is where I shitpost about mpreg. You've been warned.
Relationships: Jacob/Number Man
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5
Collections: Highly Cursed Material





	1. Thinkers

Kurt pushed open Contessa’s door, a pained look on his face and a slight waddle in his steps. Liquid oozed from his penis, and a round bulge distorting the planes of his pelvic region. “My water broke.”

Contessa promptly let her power take over, limbs moving with assured confidence even as she began screaming internally. “Door.”

The portal opened into a rather typical living room made not-so-typical by the scattered bodies and bloodstains. A tall, rakish man stopped the swing of his knife, eyes alighting on the two thinkers, first cheerfully, then narrowing.

“I’m not raising it,” Jack said, stepping back.

“I’m not asking you to,” Kurt replied, wincing. Contessa caught him mid-step, mind locked in an endless cycle of _nope_. “I just want you to be there for the delivery. One night, then you’re done.”

“And I don’t have to pay child support?” he said slowly, watching as Contessa guided Kurt to the somehow-unharmed couch.

“Breathe,” Contessa monotoned, one hand clasping Kurt’s while the other began rubbing up and down his cock, slowly growing the organ without enough stimulation to render him fully erect, pinching his phimotic foreskin and peeling it back as carefully as she could. The Path said to give him a hand job so she did, but what remained of the little girl from a thatch-roofed hut was curled up in a nice, safe corner thinking of happier times.

Kurt took a breath, held it, and let it out. His semi-hard rod twitched minutely, and only years of learned helplessness kept Contessa from running right there. “Just sit here and whisper sweet nothings to me while I go through this.”

For a second Jack mulled it over, tilting his head from one side to the other, a flat, lazy frown on his face.

Then he rolled his eyes and sat down on the couch next to Kurt, free hand still holding the knife. “Fine. But you never contact me after this.”

* * *

“What are you going to call her?” Contessa asked neutrally, cradling the infant in one arm while Kurt staggered beside her. His other head had a gap she could fit a few fingers down slowly leaking pink and white fluid through the previously-sterile hallways of Cauldron’s headquarters, but for a man who just gave birth through his dick he was looking remarkably well.

“Jackie.” The glare Contessa sent his way wasn’t Path-directed. “I didn’t know until a few months ago, and what little free time I had between keeping global finances stable and running kill missions was spent trying to get into contact with Jacob.”

_That’s why the Path said to turn around in the corridor when I went to deal with the dictator of Zimbabwe_. Out loud, Contessa said, “You can’t possibly think that you can take care of a baby in our line of work. She’s going to have to go to someone else.”

“I know,” Kurt said, sighing. “I just wanted to have...”

Contessa let the silence stretch on and hurried her steps, another Path already unfolding in her mind. The baby would need parents, ones who could provide both emotional and practical nourishment. Since no Path lead to that, she relaxed the first requirement and took the first option she could, opening a door to the East coast of the United States, stealing a piece of cardstock and a pen, and scribbling down a few words.

Just before setting the girl down, Contessa idly stared at the card. The squiggles meant nothing to her, but a quick blast of her power gave her the meaning (one of these days she was going to have to learn how to read).

_Sarah. To a good home._


	2. Brutes

** _From Within 16.12: “Carol Dallon,” the words left my lips._ **

* * *

I was instantly transported to a delivery room. Mark was on the bed, his hairy legs held up by a pair of plastic struts. Carol, startlingly younger, was holding his right hand, an empty, dead look on her face. Uncle Niel was on his left hand, muttering things under his breath while flicking his eyes between my panting father and his wife.

“Come on now honey, deep breaths, push carefully, and try to relax.”

Mark grimaced. “What the fuck do you think I’m doing?”

“This is an affront against God,” the nurse muttered from where she knelt by Mark’s spread legs, and the dream helpfully shifted to give us all a view of his titanic (yet well-groomed) member. Meanwhile, the doctor was off in the corner, muttering to himself in latin and repeatedly drawing a cross in the air.

_Why am I seeing this?_ I asked myself, even as an increasingly-large part of myself descended into incherent and unconnected trains of thought.

Mark groaned and the child crowned.

A child with blonde hair.

One excruciating birth later and I saw that it was a girl.

“Mark Dallon,” I said, only distantly aware that I was the one saying the words.

I saw my father pushed against a wall. Uncle Neil was pressing him up against it. Neither of them had their pants on.

“Neil Pelham.”

This time Mark had his face pressed into the bed. Neil was behind him. Neither were clothed.

“This has to be a lie,” Tattletale said.

A sharp pain struck between my eyes, and sweet oblivion took me.

* * *

After dealing with the crisis of the hour, I went back home. Mark answered the doorbell. I had a moment of nausea when I remember just how well-hung he was, and had to look over his shoulder. “Dad.”

He smiled. “Victoria! What’s the occasion?”

“I want to talk about Neil.”

The smile fell away. “I think we need to sit down for this.”

Three cups of tea later and I still hadn’t gotten the truth.

“Is Neil my father?” I asked.

Mark looked out the window. “Victoria, I’m your father.”

“I saw you and him having sex.”

He shook his head. “How could you have seen something like that?”

“Shard dream.” The words felt stupid even to me.

Mark seemed to agree, and the frown was back. “Seems unreliable.”

I nodded, staring into my cup, trying to divine the truth from what remained at the bottom. “It’s reliable.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just a hug?” he tried.

The memory of masculine grunts filled my ears. “Very.”

“You have to understand, it was a different time,” Mark said, slowly stirring his tea. “Men and other men would have these close relationships, and no one would think much of it, because they were just friends.”

This was getting nowhere. “Dad, did you have sex with Neil?”

He shrugged. “What even is sex?”

I threw my cup across the room and shot to floating. “Did you or did you not get fucked by Uncle Neil and then give birth to me!?”

Mark also threw his cup and also stood up. The motion was a little undercut by how I still had a head of height on him, but it was there. “And what if I did!? Carol damn sure didn’t want to put out unless she was more than reasonably certain that we’d die the next day, and even then it was only ever missionary!”

He started pacing, hands glowing and popping with each motion. “She always talked about ‘raising the next generation,’ or ‘putting a few more heroes into the world,’ but god forbid you ever broach the subject with her! ‘My career is just taking off!’ she’d say, or ‘New Wave doesn’t have the time right now.’ Never mind the fact that we’d never have the time, never mind the fact that I’d be more than happy to stay home and take care of the kids while she went out and played hot-shot lawyer! Fuck the fact that I’d only ever ask this a day after she’d go on a rant about how it was time the world had more parahumans as parents! I was always the baby-obsessed fool, a remnant of the patriarchy, and that I should feel lucky to be able to _bow_ at her feet!”

I slowly floated backwards, hands up. This didn’t feel like Dad. “Where’d all this come from?”

He looked up, a disgustingly sweet smile radiating from his face. “But Neil! Tall, strapping, kind, caring, amazingly randy Neil! I could always count on him for some rough and tumble, and no matter how bad things got with Carol I knew I could always go crack a cold one with him and the boys if I needed to unwind. He was even there for the post-partum depression!” Mark spun around, and I nearly flinched at the manic gleam in his eyes. “Your aunt Sarah may be a bitch and a half but goddamn she knows how to choose her men, and I’m not just saying that because she invited me over for a night.”

“Okay, I get the picture, I’m out!” I turned around and started flying faster-than-strictly-necessary towards the front door.

A bang went off in front of me, and I had to squint my eyes against the light. When I reopened them, Mark was standing in front of the door, rubbing his temples with an intensity that seemed to border on the suicidal.

“I’ve kept these secrets bottled up for so god-damn long, Victoria. It’s time someone besides me had to deal with them.”

A heavy hand landed on my shoulder. “Now you’ll know why Neil picked the cape-name ‘Manpower’, and why it doesn’t just refer to how he can punch a hole through a wall.”

* * *

Chicken Little quirked his head when he saw me come back into camp. “Master/Stranger password?”

“My father spent the last three hours explaining in graphic detail how my uncle impregantated him.” The words weren’t real. I had to tell myself that every time they crossed my mind, or else the cognitive dissonance would coalesce into knowledge, and then I would need to think about which orifice I came from.

“That’s not the password,” Aiden said carefully.

“Leave her alone. It’s Victoria. My word on it.” Samuel slapped Chicken Little on the shoulder.

Just like Mark had.

_The words weren’t real!_


End file.
